Feasibly Fortuitous Furnishings
by nanniships
Summary: The rather disturbing piece of furniture that appears in their future sitting room might just grow on Elsie and Charles...given time and opportuntiy. A little birthday Chelsie for olehistorian and frakyeahrahrah over on tumblr. Enjoy!


Charles Carson stood in the doorway of the sitting room he would soon be sharing with Elsie Hughes and blinked slowly as his mind grappled with what his eyes beheld. Elsie's cheerful voice from the kitchen, extolling the recent painting done to the cupboards, faded to a tinny buzz that barely nudged his ear drum and was overpowered by the rush of blood cascading wildly though his head.

It was plumply upholstered, distressingly modern, and a very delicate pale pink which highlighted vividly every effort that had been made to scrub it clean. It was… _decadent_ \- a most unlikely piece of furniture jammed with some attempt at artfulness into the corner of a room that was too small for it.

And he had no idea what it was doing there….

When a firm hand planted itself in the middle of his back and attempted to shift him to one side, out of the doorway, he automatically shuffled to the right a few inches, invoking an impatient tsk from his intended.

"Have you put down roots in this doorway, Charles?" she demanded, nudging him none too gently enough to the side so that she might enter the room. As soon as she saw what had captured his attention, her eyes widened. "Oh my…" she muttered.

Tearing his eyes away from the disturbing item lurking in the corner, he swiveled his head suddenly to look at her. She met his eyes warily.

"Charles? Are you quite alright?"

"Am I….am I…?" Gesturing wildly at the chaise lounge, he tried to make words come out of his mouth. "That….that…what….?

"I'm not upset, Charles," she reassured him. "I _do_ wish we'd talked about it first…"

"As do I, Mrs, Hughes," he ground out between clenched teeth, ignoring her exasperated eye roll.

"Well, we'll just make the best of it, Charles," she said, casting a dubious glance at him as he shut his mouth with an audible snap. "It wouldn't have been my first choice, but—"

"I cannot understand why it was any choice at all!" he erupted, gripping his waistcoat like it was the only thing anchoring him to the surface of the earth. She narrowed her eyes at him as he huffed indignantly, but he was too far gone in umbrage to notice the storm warnings. "Why in heavens name did you choose such a piece of furniture?"

"What?"

"I do not mean to cast aspersions on your usually impeccable taste, Mrs. Hughes," he continued obliviously, "but surely you can see that this….this… _furnishing_ is not appropriate for our sitting room!"

"Have you gone mad, Charles?" she snapped.

He looked at her in surprise, uneasy to see her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing dangerously at him. Clearing his throat nervously, he took a surreptitious step back from her. She immediately stepped forward to fill it.

"Were you actually under the impression that I had selected _this_ for our home?" He opened his mouth to respond, then let it flap shut again helplessly as she poked his chest with her index finger. "I assumed it was something that _you_ had picked out to try to surprise me." She looked over at the rather hideous piece of furniture and shuddered. "I was certainly surprised, I'll give you that."

"Elsie, I would never choose something like…like that," he choked out, flapping his hand furiously in the direction of the corner.

"Thank goodness," she said with a little snort, "because I'm not certain I'd have been able to spare your feelings if you had, Charles."

His eyebrows shot up as he contemplated the fact that she would have tried to indulge him if his taste had been this abominable. A little smile began to play at the corner of his mouth. She noticed and gave an exasperated sigh.

"So…you don't want it in the sitting room?" he asked.

"Daft man," she replied.

They stared at the chaise lounge in silent consternation for a moment.

"However did it get in here, I'd like to know," Elsie mused.

Charles grunted and frowned. "It must have been a most unfortunate mistake."

Elsie looked at him appraisingly for a moment. "Have you tried it out?" she asked with a grin.

"Certainly not!"

"Perhaps we'd better," she suggested, stifling a laugh at his expression when he turned to stare at her.

"Sometimes I can't tell if you're joking or not, Elsie Hughes," he rumbled, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Well, I'll try it, even if you won't," she said playfully, leaving him standing in astonishment as she strode across the room to sit gingerly after dusting it thoroughly with her handkerchief. "There's room for two, Charles," she teased, patting the upholstery next to her.

"You must be joking," he replied as he inched reluctantly towards her. She reached out her hand to beckon him closer and he cast a wary eye at it.

"It's surprisingly comfortable," she mused, bouncing slightly on it.

Sweat began to bead on Charles' brow and a muscle jumped in his jaw. He inched a bit closer as Elsie shifted to lean against the back in a semi recumbent position. She sighed quietly as she sank into the upholstery.

"It wouldn't take much to recover it and make it look much better. A pity it's so inappropriate for our sitting room," she continued as a red flush crept up Charles's neck from his collar.

"Yes, a pity," he croaked. He looked down at her as she stared challengingly at him, wondering when exactly he had crossed the room to be standing right next to her.

"Oh well," she said briskly, swinging her legs back down to the floor and sitting upright again. "We'll have to see what can be done about getting rid of it." She smiled at the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face as her skirts rearranged themselves as usual.

"Simply not appropriate for the siting room," he muttered.

"You're right, of course. Far too…reckless." His eyebrows flew up at her choice of words. "Well, we'd best get on. I'm sure they'll be missing us up at the Abbey soon."

Charles helped her courteously to her feet and waited patiently while she gathered her basket from the kitchen, fighting the urge to stare at the chaise lounge, which had taken on a entirely new character.

"Shall we, Charles?"

He jumped, startled out of an uncomfortable reverie. She looked at him knowingly.

"You know Charles," she began as they left the house and locked the door behind them, "we still haven't decided what furniture we'll need for the spare room…"


End file.
